


Lights Changing Colour

by tyrantsandcreampuffs



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Photographer, F/M, sort of like the soulmates AU with colors but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:37:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5891248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyrantsandcreampuffs/pseuds/tyrantsandcreampuffs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before her, all his pictures had been in black and white.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I know I have other WIPs I should be writing for (and I actually have papers and assignments due for uni) but I was visited by the plot bunny the other night and I wrote this down. It's a twist of sorts on the soulmates!AU where the other person doesn't see in color until they meet their soulmate. I hope I made it unique enough to stand out somehow. This story will have three chapters as it is told in three parts. I'll try to get the next chapter up by next week. This piece is unbeta-ed so if you can give me a hand when you spot glaring errors, that would be lovely! :)
> 
> The title is taken from the song Lights Changing Colour by Stars, which is a song I think will relate to Rey's feelings more in the future chapters. 
> 
> Lastly, hit me up on my tumblr @kaathiiee! Let's talk about reylo, feelings, and cry about waiting two more years for the next movie to come out.

* * *

  **PART ONE: BEFORE**

* * *

 

He is seven years old when he is caught by his father. The intrusion startles him and makes him drop what he is holding: a personal treasure, something he had stumbled upon, tucked away between the pages of an old book on his mother’s shelf. The older Solo takes one look at the worn parchment on the floor, at the faces smiling back at him, before picking up the old photograph and telling his son to follow him.

Ben knows he’s being brought to his mother and already his cheeks flush with embarrassment. His father drags it out, a dramatic flair in his tone as he says _look what I found in Ben’s room!_ It’s just a picture, Ben wants to point out in a last ditch effort to defend himself, but his mother holds the unframed print in her hands and looks at the people with a melancholic haze in her eyes.

 _Do you know who these people are, Ben?_ Her voice is soft, gentle; not as clipped as he is accustomed to hearing from her when she speaks with other adults. He nods his head in response. The two faces in the picture belong to his mother’s parents, who died long before he was born. He isn’t privy to the details; no one’s told him yet of whatever caused their demise, but he assumes it must have been still a sore topic as his mother never brings it up.

 _They loved each other so much_ , she tells him before throwing a glance to her husband. _And one day, Ben, I hope you find that someone you can love just as much as your grandfather Anakin loved your grandmother Padmé._

He blanches in the seat across his mother. His parents are overly affectionate with one another, though they often show their love unconventionally, through petty fights, mostly. Then, they would make up and kiss and Ben would stumble upon them in the hallway and he’d cover his eyes because it’s _weird_ and _icky_. If the marriage of his grandparents had been superlative, he doesn’t want to imagine how more public they had been with their affections compared to his parents.

When he wakes up the next day, he finds the picture on the table beside his bed. He takes it and finds somewhere safer to keep it, somewhere his parents wouldn’t bother snooping around. The photograph carries too much sentiment to be thrown away, and Ben doesn’t want to relive the embarrassment of seeing it somewhere else in the house should he surrender it back to the possession of his mother. Instead, he keeps it in an old box beneath his bed, along with some of his old toys he couldn’t throw out.

He had only kept the picture because he had liked the hairstyle his grandfather had been sporting, but whenever he thought of it now, he could only think of what love is supposed to look like: the endearing beam on his grandmother’s face, the firm arm wrapped across her shoulders, the warm gaze of his grandfather as he looked at his wife and not at the camera taking their picture.

And how it is all in black and white.

* * *

It’s his tenth birthday when he receives his very own camera. His parents throws a party for him early in the afternoon, inviting the other kids in his class and their neighbors as well, even after he’s expressed his dislike for forced social interactions on many occasions. He is pulled out of his room by his uncle Luke at least four times before the last of the guests leaves, and then it is only his family that remains in the living room.

Together, they open the gifts he had received from people he barely knows. There are some he feels the sentimentality of the gesture from, like Uncle Lando who had given him a set of figures of fighter planes. While he likes having new toys to play with, his mother has ingrained in him a sense of practicality that makes him feel more mature than the rest of his peers. He replaces the gifts in the boxes they came in and tosses them to the side, not as eager to find out what others had gotten for him as his parents hopes for. Uncle Luke hands over the last box, wrapped simply and indistinguishable from the rest at first glance.

 _Go on_ , his father prods, holding an arm over his mother’s shoulders and pulling her close. He watches first as his mother leans into his father and then smiles at him encouragingly to continue opening his gift from them. When he tears off the last piece of paper sticking to the package, he recognizes the picture in the front to be a camera. His Uncle Luke comes closer and helps him open the box to reveal the contents, a small rectangular box with a sleek metal finish. He knows nothing of models and specifications, is only told that _it’s a point and shoot, you point at the thing you want to take a picture of and press the button here, shoot_.

He takes the device in his hand, peers through the hole which he would later learn is called the viewfinder, aims at his parents and sets them in the frame, and _clicks_. The flash lights up and he sets the camera back down. Uncle Luke takes the camera from him and shows him which button to press to display the pictures he has just taken. It shows his parents on the screen, smiling not so candidly at him, but lovingly all the same. Ben hears his uncle grumble about the settings because the picture had appeared to be monochromatic, in black and white, and it surprises even him how fast he blurts out _No!_

They all look at him as though he’d grown another head, and he calmly, even with red tinting his cheeks, explains that _it looks nice this way, I think I’ll take pictures like this instead_.

 _Well, it’s your call,_ his father tells him, grinning before he reaches and ruffles his son’s hair. _It’s quite expensive, so don’t go around breaking it, okay? If you break it, you’re going to have to work to pay for the repairs._

Ben rolls his eyes; his father just wants to find an excuse for him to hang out more often in the shop, to teach him the ropes of being a mechanic so that he could help out with whatever needs to be done. Though, he would go just to see his father’s business partner, Uncle Chewie, because he would always get a treat whenever they saw each other.

He takes the camera back to his room and leaves the rest of the gifts behind. His parents would clean up after him; his mother would decide which gifts to put in his room or to give away to other children. Ben doesn’t really care much for anything else than his new gadget at the moment.

The second picture he takes is of the view outside his bedroom. He unlatches the locks on the window and pushes it open. The street lamp glows an incandescent yellow-orange, but on his screen it only comes out as white fading into gray at the edges, and Ben decides it is more beautiful this way.

* * *

In between his fifteenth and sixteenth year, he is awkward in more senses than one. His mother comments that he’s growing so fast, that at the rate his spurt is going, he’s going to become even taller than his father. He is gangly, long-limbed, but at least he’s bulky enough to not look like a walking stick. Ben grows his hair out a bit longer than usual, and somehow he catches the attention of enough girls whenever he walks down the corridors at his schools. He just isn’t sure how to react to that, to _them_.

And the truth of the matter is that he doesn’t even have time to think of potential relationships when the one closest to him is falling apart. It’s also at this age that he hears the words _separation_ and _divorce_ with a frequency that should be alarming. He hears his parents shouting at each other; he is used to their fighting, but not like _this_. His parents are not what he imagines when he thinks of a non-functioning couple. Divorce is supposed to be for people who don’t love each other anymore, and his parents are too stubbornly in love with one another to even consider the alternatives where they don’t.

He’s locked himself away in his room as he studies for upcoming exams, and when he comes out when it is supposed to be time for supper, he instead finds his mother on the couch of their living room, staring blankly ahead of her.

 _Where’s Father?_ Ben frowns as he sees the tears forming at the edges of his mother’s eyes.

His mother is strong, he knows, always putting up a front to have her authority never questioned. But in the privacy of their house, she is free to admit her weaknesses and Ben is distressed at the sight of his mother crying.

 _Before I met your father,_ she starts, voice wavering, _he traveled a lot. He and your Uncle Chewie, actually. It was only when he met me that he decided to settle down, but I knew he couldn’t be held back for long._

Ben hears himself swearing. _He has a family now._

_I know. He knows that, too. Han will come back to us, Ben. He wouldn’t completely abandon you because he loves you, he does. Don’t ever doubt that._

When his mother tells him, it is too late; the seeds have already been planted. There is resentment where there was once love for his father, and he lets these weeds grow in his heart, lets the wound from his father’s departure fester. His mother warns him of the dangers of allowing himself to feel this way, that he shouldn’t be angry with his father for wishing time for himself, but all Ben sees is the way his mother looks downcast whenever she passes the framed photograph of their wedding portrait in the hall, and he _hates_ his father for making his mother feel this way.

He captures this moment too many times with his own eyes. He doesn’t need a camera to print out the sadness he’s already committed to memory.

* * *

At twenty-one, he still doesn’t forgive his father. After Han Solo returns to town, Ben stops helping his Uncle Chewie manage the shop. He’s made enough money from shifts to afford better equipment for his own photography gig, and he doesn’t want to increase the chances of running into his father. At the house, it is inevitable, but he schedules shoots such that he manages to create a timetable in which he is home when his father isn’t around. The tension between the men doesn’t please Leia at all, and all she ever does is frown and knit her brows together when she finally manages to make the two sit together for a family dinner.

On the rare occasion that his mother has a day off, she’s at home, tending to the plants at their garden patio. Their pet dog, Threepio, is lapping circles around him in greeting as he walks up to his mother. He doesn’t say anything, just hands over the letter he has just received: a notification of a scholarship grant, accepting him to a fine arts and multimedia school in another country. He had submitted his portfolio months ago and never thought he would have gotten any response, but now that he has, he wouldn’t dare think of keeping it from his mother. She is beaming with pride and hugging him, saying that he’s always been so wonderfully talented and someone was bound to notice.

What is supposed to be a tender moment between mother and son turns somber as he informs her that he’s leaving. _So soon?_ He doesn’t miss the disappointment in her voice. _And you’re not telling your father, are you?_

 _No_ , he answers with a shake of his head.

She smiles and places a hand on his cheek, reaching up because he’d grown almost a foot taller than her. In her eyes are a different kind of sadness, something twinged with regrets.  _I know you stayed behind for my sake, Ben. Our family hasn’t been the same ever since Han left, and I had hoped that we could start trying to be happy all together again, but that would be far too selfish of me. It’s time for you to go out and have your own adventure._

Ben comes back inside before he breaks down in front of his mother. Distracting himself from the flurry of emotions, he begins packing. He has two bags which he fills up with clothes and his camera gear. He pushes in a few books as well, just to fend off boredom during his flight, but overall he finds nothing in his room that he wants to bring along with him. He doesn’t keep a lot of mementos; there are only the prints of various pictures he had taken over the years hung on his wall, and he doesn’t have the heart to tear them down because he knows his mother loves looking at them.

He is twenty-one years old and he’s been waiting for the opportunity to get out into the world for years. He knows he can do better than what he’s doing now. He can _be_ better. If he leaves, perhaps then he wouldn’t feel like he’s holding on to a grudge any longer. His mother had been quick to forgive his father for leaving, for upsetting her all those years ago. He wants to do the same, but he can’t do it here; not presently. He acknowledges that it his own weakness that he can’t bring himself to see Han Solo like he used to as a child.

The next morning, he takes off for an early flight – but not without first bringing out a box from beneath his bed, gaining dust from being untouched for over a decade. He picks up a long-worn photograph of a couple he never knew personally, the same old piece that had defined the course of his life, and leaves it on his desk.

This is the only way he can think of saying both thank you and goodbye.

* * *

He’s twenty-six years old and it has been years since he’s seen either of his parents. They try to keep up with him, leaving him calls and messages, never failing to mail him a handwritten note on his birthday; and always asking when he’d come around for the holidays. To be honest, he doesn’t know what to do whenever he gets those summons. There exists a conflict within him: as much as he wants to go back home, he knows that he still harbors some residual resentment for his father. It has faded with time and distance, just as he had expected, but he fears that if he comes back, he’ll be angry all over again.

It’s rather hypocritical of him as he hasn’t returned in five years while Han did come back in three, but his mother had given him her blessing, and that is enough difference for Ben to believe that he’s better than his father.

His own family drama aside, Ben couldn’t leave the city as he has been flooded with work. After graduation, he’d been invited to join The First Order, a world-renowned photography agency. During his final exhibit, a series of portraits in black and white, one of their representatives had informed him that they had been keeping an eye out for him because he had managed to impress one of the firm’s partners, a certain _Snoke_ , and they wanted him on-board because of his talent. Not a lot of people were given this kind of offer and he had taken it without a second thought.

The job is tiring and demanding, but it’s nothing that he cannot handle. Sometimes, he has shoots in odd hours of the day. Other times, he has to travel for hours just to take one shot of one person. But this is what he has always wanted, he tells himself, as he slumps down tiredly onto his bed. It’s rewarding because the pay is more than decent and it gives him the opportunity to go places. The only downside is the production head named _Hux_ , who is a pain in the ass to work with because of how meticulous he could be. Hux has been with the First Order longer than he has; when he first arrived, one of the assistants whispered to him the infamous story of how Hux called off an entire shoot because the sun hadn’t been _right_.

On his days off, he strolls around the city with his camera hanging from his neck. Always set in monochrome, he takes pictures of strangers and sights he attempts to frame in a more unique fashion. It’s difficult to set one apart as a photographer, and while he’s one of the lucky few who’s managed to stand out with his specialization in monochromatic portraiture, he still tries to practice other kinds of photography in his down time – though, he never takes shots in full color.

He picks up a magazine off one of the stands on the street, handing over some change to the aging attendant and heads off to a nearby café to have some coffee. He flips through the pages until he lands on the piece that he is looking for. He reads the final written article about the celebrity he had taken photographs of. Poe Dameron is a rising star of sorts and Ben had been contracted to have a shoot with him for the pictures they were going to use for publications. He takes a look at Poe’s spread and sees his own name at the bottom right of the picture, where the credits are usually placed.

 _Photography by Kylo Ren_ , it says.

The name still feels unnatural whenever he’s called by it, but it is the name he has made for himself, and it is all that matters to him now.

* * *

At twenty-nine, he is at crossroads with his own beliefs.

When he sets foot in a territory he’s never been to before, the first thing he wants to do is to look around, to wander by himself and discover what sights the place has to offer. The shoot he is assigned to is in a country that hasn’t been stamped to his passport and he’s grateful when they announce that they’re rescheduling the session to the day after because of a sudden storm in the area. This gives him the day off to himself, and he’s still being paid for being there, so it doesn’t matter so much to him that he isn’t doing any professional work.

He takes an umbrella, turns on the GPS of his phone so he knows where he’s going, slings the camera over his shoulders and leaves the hotel room. The rain has gradually softened over the afternoon and the winds have calmed as well, allowing for him to take off without worrying about being caught up in the gale. Eventually, he reaches a park with the nearby café open to customers looking for shelter in the cold weather. He is one step to crossing the road to reach the shop when he hears a bubbly giggle from behind him, the sound dampened by the rain but undeniable in its mirth.

He isn’t sure what takes over him, what tells him to follow the sound, what curiosity drives him to search for the source, but he keeps walking on. No one is in the park while the storm warning is out, except for a girl, who so happens to be the same person he had heard earlier, and she is dancing in the rain like a silly young thing. Her dress is gray and the wet wear clings to her body like second skin, showing the slight curve of her figure. Her long brown hair appears near black in its damp state and is following the motions of her head as she spins around in place, hands outstretched, palms facing upward to catch the drizzles on her flesh.

 _Point, aim, shoot_.

The flash catches her attention and she stops in the middle of her motions to face him, cheeks reddening in mortification from being caught. She is wearing simple flats, so she doesn’t slip when she all but runs to him. He stretches out his arm to shelter them both from the downpour, but really he is covering her more as he feels the back of his coat grow moist as it's hit with the rain. Which occurs to him is a bad idea as she's already soaked anyway.

 _I’m so sorry_ , she squeaks out, her accent standing out to his ears. _I didn’t think anyone would come around in this weather. Did I interrupt your shot?_

She doesn’t know that she herself was the shot he had intended to take, and he’s a bit embarrassed himself that she had taken notice of him. He is used to being uninterrupted when he aimlessly takes photograph of his surroundings and strangers, but he should have known better as they are the only two around the area. He had been so entranced, so _desperate_ to capture the moment that he hadn’t thought of asking for her consent.

 _I should be the one apologizing,_  he replies, awkwardly fumbling with his camera to press the display and shows her the picture he had taken. On the screen, it shows her smiling at the sky as the rains pour down overhead, hair flying wildly behind her and the sleeves of her dress hanging loosely on her arms. _I should have asked permission first._

She leans closer to inspect the picture, and he catches a whiff of her scent – something floral and soft, mixed with the earth and the rain. It causes an unnecessary stir within him and when she steps back, he almost wishes that he could pull her back into his gravity.

 _Is it really in black and white?_ Her question is also a request, and he obliges to it readily. He toggles with the settings until the picture appears as shot, in color: the gray-blue sky, the dark emerald trees, the browns of the earth beneath her feet, the red of her lips, the flesh tone of her pale skin. He takes in a sharp breath at the sight because he’d never seen his own pictures like _this_. In school, he had taken a few shots that hadn’t been in black and white, yes, but he had adjusted their saturation such that it was almost dull and near enough to a monochrome theme. This – it’s bursting with color, with life, with _her_.

Her smile is something he doesn’t want to forget, that he wants to make a print of and hang for the rest of the world to see, to discover the _light_ of her. _It’s more beautiful this way, isn’t it?_

He is twenty-nine years old now and as he nods _yes_ to agree with her, his world does a complete turn-around and everything he used to believe in goes down the drain along with the last drops of the rain. 


	2. Her

* * *

**PART TWO: HER**

* * *

She is nineteen when she finally makes enough money to leave the desert town she’s lived in her entire life. It takes her seven hours on a bus to get to the city that she names her new beginning. It isn’t a bad choice at all; the rent is cheap, there is a local college she could take classes in and there are plenty of opportunities for her to make money to just get by. What really matters to her is that here she is _free_ to pursue whatever she wants, not bound by the debts of the parents who abandoned her as a child.

After meeting up with the landlord to give her initial deposit and to claim her keys to a small room she’s rented, she heads to the city proper, to walk around, to explore. It is her first time out and she doesn’t know anyone or anything, so she wants to at least have some knowledge of the new area she’s supposed to call home now. The buildings are an odd sight; back in her old town, no establishment stands taller than three stories. Here, they are about thrice as tall.

She is in a café having lunch when the storm bears down on the city. The thunder makes her flinch in her seat, but otherwise she is captivated by the sight of so much _water_ pouring from the sky. It is dark and gray and gloomy, but still, it might have been the most _beautiful_ thing she’s seen yet. She pays for her tab and steps out; there are stares from the other customers when she crosses the street without an umbrella overhead, but she can’t stand to think of their opinions when she the only thoughts crossing her mind at the moment is of how good the rain feels on her skin.

The park is right at the center of the city. She imagines it’s usually full of people when the weather is more permitting, but right now she is the only one there. Closing her eyes, Rey focuses on the sound of the pattering drops, on the chill seeping into her flesh from the dampness of her clothes. It is a wondrous feeling, to be freed of inhibitions by the deluge. Her laughter rings in her own ears and nothing else has made her happier. She keeps at it, keeps dancing around by herself, until she catches sight of a bright flash of light in her peripheral vision which makes her halt.

There is a man watching her, holding a camera in his hands, looking up at her like he’s embarrassed to have been caught. She runs to him, to apologize for interrupting his shot, and then he shows her the picture he had taken, and…

He is also new to this city, he confesses, and he had just been going around to get a feel of the place he’s never been to. Already they have something in common, which makes Rey feel more at ease with him. When she sneezes mid-conversation, she can see him hesitating whether he should give his coat to her or not, and she explicitly tells him that _it’s fine, I’m liking the cold, really this is great_ , but he makes up his mind and places his long jacket over her shoulders anyway. It’s thick and dark and immediately she is overcome by his warmth and the musk that clings to his wear.

 _Ben Solo_ , he introduces himself, pushing back his long dark hair to show his eyes, _and you are?_

 _Rey_ , she answers with a beam. She stretches out a hand in front of her and he takes it with a grip so gentle, like he thinks she’s delicate. _It’s nice to meet you, Ben._

* * *

A year later, she is in a comfortable routine which comprises of attending classes in the day, working shifts at the local repair shop at night, and meeting up with Ben whenever his schedule permits him to visit, at least once every month or so. She is admittedly jealous that he gets to travel all over the world, but really she’s happier for him than anything else. He brings her back all these souvenirs, postcards, and promises her that he’ll bring her along to one of his trips – _on him_ – when her own schedule lets up as well.

They’re _not_ _anything_ , Rey tells one of her classmates in an advanced mechanical engineering class she’s taking who spots her out with Ben one day. _Just friends_ comes to mind because that’s what they’ve defined between them: friendship. She asks if he has anyone else he visits in other places, and he answers _no, not really_ and she laughs because she can imagine him being a complete loner. It’s not that she doesn’t want to pursue anything romantic with him – because the thought has crossed her mind at least twice – but she doesn’t really want to ruin what they have going. He’s the very first friend she has made in this new beginning of hers and it’s not anything she takes lightly.

It’s December when he comes by again. They’re walking by the park they first met in, wrapped in layers of clothes to fight off the cold. It isn’t snowing, not yet, but the chill is there all the same. His camera hangs around his neck and she’s swinging her purse around. He’s telling her about a shoot he had a few weeks ago and she listens intently as he mentions his irritation for his co-worker Hux yet again. In turn, she explains how she built a custom motorcycle for herself using spare parts from the shop she works at. She’s in the middle of talking when he shushes her abruptly, picks up the camera and takes a shot of her as she scrunches her brows at him, indignant at being silenced.

 _Try smiling_ , he says, and she rolls her eyes but obliges. She lifts the side of her lips until her teeth show. It’s genuine because she really finds it endearing, how he stops the world around him to capture a moment. At first, it isn’t something she relates to – she knows how the world will keep going on despite tragedies, how the days tick off into weeks, months, years. She grew up never thinking to slow down in fear of being left behind again, but Ben seems to have mastered being in command of his own time, and the habit eventually rubs off on her as she learns to pace herself differently in the city.

 _You don’t know how to angle your face properly_ , he comments as he shows her the picture. Her bright yellow coat stands out against the mute green of the trees in the backdrop, and while she looks happy with her big smile and crinkled eyes, she does look a bit strained with her cheeks too high up.   _You need a teacher._

 _Says the one who doesn’t know how to smile_ , she teases back, but then falters in her cheekiness as he steps towards her – practically just one leap given the length of his strides – and the distance between them diminishes. He is standing in front of her now, closer than usual, and he brings his hand up to her cheek, pushing it up to position her face upwards. His other hand rests on her shoulder and he pulls it slightly forward. Their proximity is, as all new things are to Rey, thrilling, and it takes so much to keep her heart from leaping out of her chest.

He steps back and she keeps the form he’s assisted her into. When he stops and raises his camera once more, she smiles again until the flash dies down; but when he lowers the camera, she sees the grin he hides beneath his device and she feels herself melting as though she was the snow falling to the ground.

Rey is twenty years old and Ben is about to turn thirty, but the gap doesn’t matter to her at all when she thinks about what she could be feeling for him.

* * *

She is exactly twenty-one years, six months, seventeen days old when he kisses her.

For her, it comes out of nowhere. She has already said her goodbyes and she is headed back to the parking lot where she left her motorcycle when she hears his voice calling for her. When she turns, she sees him chasing after her like something had gone loose in the gears of his head, making him act unhinged. They would have collided had Ben not stopped himself just in time. The momentum is still there, though, and it is what drives the motion of his arms reaching out to pull her closer. He bends down, crashes his lips over hers, and Rey allows herself to be shocked for a good three seconds before giving in to the kiss.

Somehow the feather light hold behind her neck, the gentleness of his lips, the overwhelming assault on her senses of _him_ makes up for the loneliness of her childhood, for all the years she had prayed someone would come back for her. Because it feels like _this_ is what all the hopeful wishing had led to – her deciding to run away for good, her impulse to dance in the rain; it all led to meeting him, to getting to know him, to falling in love with him. If it isn’t fate that made their paths cross on that stormy day, Rey doesn’t know what it is.

 _I’ll come back for you,_ he promises after they part, and all she can do is hum back, her lips still tingling from the aftershocks of their contact. When she watches him walk away, there is no doubt in her heart that he will actually return for her.

She spends her days waiting, waiting, and waiting – nothing new to her, if she was being honest with herself. She spends her days thinking of the old wasteland she never thought of as home, of the dull yellow that stretches everywhere around her for miles and miles, of the orange heat of the sun perpetually hanging above her, painting her skin with brown freckles she would never get rid of, a permanent reminder of the life before this city, before Ben. And she spends her days loving how he’s shown her another world full of colors, in captured images in his camera; the endless possibilities of vibrant green and blue blending around them both.

She spends her days waiting for him to come back.

* * *

On her twenty-second birthday, he asks her to come with him. _Where?_ The answer he gives her is _home_ , and she doesn’t hesitate in her response. _Yes, of course I’ll go with you, Ben_ , because by now they’ve been together long enough for her to coax out a confession from him about his familial status – that is, he hasn’t seen his parents in what is close to a decade now, and she can’t bear to watch him throw away something he doesn’t know he has.

After her graduation ceremony – which isn’t really a graduation ceremony but her filing for a certificate over at the registrar’s office, going out to celebrate over a nice dinner in an upscale restaurant with Ben and then going back to her apartment to have wonderful mind-blowing sex until dawn – they head to the airport and sleep for the entire thirteen hours of the flight to Ben’s old hometown, the one he hasn’t stepped on ever since he left to pursue his own career in photography ten years ago.

 _They don’t hate you._ He’s more than acclaimed to the rest of the world as _Kylo Ren_ and his works are featured in magazines which Rey used to spend her book stipend on, and she’s at least fifty percent sure that his parents have been following his work just as she has. She squeezes his arm in a gesture of reassurance when she feels his fists tighten as they step off the taxi with their luggage in tow. _Upset, maybe, but after everything you’ve accomplished, they must be more proud than angry._

In the end, she’s the one who reaches out to ring the doorbell and an elderly lady steps out, gray hair tied in a large bun at the back of her head and a brown knitted vest over her torso. At the sight of the younger girl, she looks lost, but when she sees the man standing beside Rey, she takes in a deep breath.

 _Ben?_ Rey steps to the side so that Leia – Ben told her his mother’s name before – could go to her son.

 _Mother—_ Ben starts, but is interrupted by a harsh slap to the right side of his face.

 _You were gone for ten years_ , she cries, not at all unhinged by the fact that she just hit her own son. _And three years, you didn’t talk to us at all!_

 _I’m sorry_ — he begins once more, and Rey can see that all his anxiety pouring out. Her boyfriend isn’t as great with getting a grip over his emotions as he likes to believe, and she can see that he’s trying really hard to find a way to express his own frustrations and guilt, so she steps back to his side and takes his hand once more. It’s a tense moment between Ben and his mother, and she wants to support him in whatever way she can. Their hand holding catches Leia’s attention and the matron snaps her head to Rey, giving her a thorough once-over.

It’s only under the woman’s scrutiny that Rey feels embarrassed for herself. The thought of being here being a mistake crosses her mind briefly, before Ben squeezes her hand in return and she remembers why she’s there in the first place. _Hello, Mrs. Solo_ , she greets, unsurely and nervously, _my name is Rey, and I’m Ben’s ah, um, girlfriend_.

When Leia embraces her and whispers _thank you so much for bringing my son back to me_ , Rey wants to correct her, say _no, it’s Ben who decided it was time for him to return_ , but she is too lost in the flood of warmth, of the feeling of actually being welcome to stay from the older woman that it renders her speechless.

During their stay, Ben confronts his father, Han, and they try to mend whatever rift exists between them. It is not something that can be fixed in a day, or by a short visit, so Ben promises to try to come by more often – with Rey, of course, as Leia has taken a liking to the younger woman. A week later, they take off to bring Rey back home, and Leia and Han see them off at the airport.

 _This is your home now, too,_ says Leia in her parting hug. Rey is the one weeping, not Ben as he says goodbye to his parents, and he hushes her, _they’re your family now, too,_ but his words only makes her cry harder. Because somewhere now, she knows she belongs.

* * *

At twenty-four, she’s convinced that she’s in love, that she’ll never leave Ben – just as much as she’s convinced that he’s in love with her and that he’ll never leave her.

She is still twenty-four years old when she finds out she’s wrong.

This is how it goes: it’s his birthday, she flies all the way to his current location to surprise him at a scheduled shoot, she rents a car, she buys a cupcake, no one questions her presence when she introduces herself as his girlfriend there on a covert mission to greet him, and when she walks in on the room he’s supposed to be in –

_Rey! Rey, no, listen, I can explain –_

She leaves in a hurry, packed cupcake crashing to the ground as she runs back to the car. He’s in pursuit, but she manages to get in and lock the doors before he can follow her inside. He’s banging on the door, shouting her name, but all she hears is the rush of blood in her ears, her heart hammering against her ribs and her mind telling her she’s _wrong, wrong, so wrong_ over and over again. That she was such a fool to think it would last, that it was true, that his feelings for her aren’t just another fleeting thing. She turns the keys and the engine thrums to life; his rapping becomes more desperate, and all that comes out from his throat is a mangled sound, a mix of _Rey_ and _please stay_ , but she doesn’t hear any of it. If she just turns to look at him, she will see that there are tears streaming down his face, that he's fraught as she leaves him – but she doesn’t.

When she gets back to the city, she’s comforted by the fact that he isn't aware of the location of her hotel. She locks herself up in the room for the next two days, turning off her phone and crying until there’s nothing left to let out. When she steps out, she knows she’s a mess, and the first man she bumps into candidly points it out to her – and not in the nicest manner.

 _Oh, wow, you look like shit_ , he says, but her stern glare makes him aware of the crassness he spewed, _I mean, I’m sure you’re pretty, but you also look like you’ve been caught up in a hurricane._

She thinks, _maybe you’re not so wrong_.

He offers a weak smile, unsure how to apologize. _That came out wrong and rude, but really I’m a nice guy. I swear, I'm not some weirdo. Do you want to grab some coffee?_

Rey hesitates. She doesn’t forget that her heart is broken and that her flight back home is tomorrow and the thought of spending the next few hours before she leaves with a stranger, with another man, doesn’t sit well with her. He catches on to her reluctance, though, and he proposes again, _I’ll tell my boyfriend to come with. It’s going to be cool. I know you and I don’t know one another, but you look like you need a friend right now._

The new offer makes her more comfortable and she nods, _sure, I’ll come with you…?_

 _Finn, the name’s Finn_ , he says, and in turn she asks him to call her _Rey_. He grabs her wrist and walks them to the room at the other end of the hallway of their shared hotel floor and knocks. When the door opens, another man steps into view and she’s taken aback because she _knows_ him. Anyone who hasn't been living under a rock or in a backward desert town knows who the man is.

 _You’re, you—_ she starts, but find she can’t continue, too star-struck.

 _Poe Dameron, yes,_ the other man answers with a smile. He turns to Finn and rises a brow accusingly. _Who’s this?_

_Her name’s Rey and I told her she could hang out with us. I was going down to grab coffee when she stepped out of her own room and I saw her. Look at her, Poe! She looks terrible!_

_I’m right here, you know._

_I know, sweetheart, but that doesn’t make the state of your appearance any less true._

_Wait, wait!_ Poe interrupts their conversation, looking as if he’s just realized something. _I know you. Rey… Rey… You’re Ren’s girlfriend, aren’t you? Kylo Ren, the photographer?_

The name that is and isn’t _his_ reminds her of the rawness of the memory of his betrayal, and she chokes back a sob. Immediately, Finn wraps an arm over her shoulders and pushes her into the room with Poe moving away from the doorway to give way for his boyfriend and the crying girl Finn’s just met.

They share a glance as they sit Rey on the couch. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what it is that had just been said that triggered such an emotional response in the younger woman. The mention of Kylo Ren, one of the photographers Poe admired and worked with on a few projects, caused Rey to break down, and though to them she is a total stranger, neither of the two men can leave her so vulnerable.

 _I’m so sorry,_ Rey says, trying to stand, _I shouldn’t be intruding like this._

 _Nonsense!_ Finn rubs circles over the space between her shoulder blades. _I don’t know about Poe here, but you’re_ my _friend now and I’m not going to let you go back to your room where you were probably weeping for who knows how long over a boy who doesn’t know what he had. So, what do you say, Rey? Why don’t we go out and have some fun?_

Poe doesn’t say anything, but he smiles at her encouragingly, going along with whatever plot his boyfriend has.

Rey perks her lips up in what is an attempt at a smile, wipes her eyes with the sleeves of her jumper, and relents. _Alright._ _Okay. Thank you, thank you so much, Finn_.

* * *

The next few months are a blur of events. It turns out that her new friend Finn is also a talent scout, aside from acting as Poe Dameron’s manager. Not only does he offer his unconditional love and support as her new best friend, but he gives her a _job_. An actual job that will pay. It’s not something she ever thought of being, and it’s nowhere near relevant to the mechanical engineering degree she pursued for years at the community college she attended, but, Finn guarantees her, it’s going to be an _adventure_.

She has goosebumps on her flesh when she signs the contract, and when the pen settles on the table, the weight of what she’s just agreed to be bears down on her stomach. She almost can’t handle the anxiety that comes with now being part of the _Rebel_ Agency, one of the most competitive modeling agencies in the industry. There are more pros than cons and Rey agrees because she gets more than she gives – and she is firm in her belief that her worth is much more than that of a pretty face, so she hasn't much to lose, really. This is a new chapter in her life, something she doesn’t necessarily want, but knows she needs in order to move forward.

Finn is the one that personally oversees her projects, not for one moment letting her out of his sight. She’s grateful for his constant presence. She fell in love with the first friend she ever made, and that didn’t turn out so well. This time, however, is different. This kind of love is much more secure and safe, and Rey relishes in the comfort that is Finn’s friendship. He trains her, teaches her the ropes of being a model, of being part of a new and foreign industry, and compliments her all the time: _You’re a natural!_ or _You hardly need a teacher!_

She thinks of _him_ often, of the wasted love she had for Ben Solo, but feels _haunted_ by his presence on her first actual shoot, the first time she steps in front of a camera in the studio. She sees _him_ behind the lens, imagines it is _his_ voice dictating her movements and actions that will set her in a pose fit for publishing to the world. _Try smiling_ , she hears _him_ telling her.

The smile she displays is brilliant, white teeth set against the bright flash of the camera. There is no trace of the anguish she keeps within her as she is reminded of the man she once loved overwhelmingly; there is only a serene expression gracing her soft features. Calm, collected; for the first time in quite a while, happy. _It’s a winning shot_ , Finn later speaks to her as they hover over the screen that shows the recent pictures, _the whole world is going to fall in love with you, Rey,_ but his words fall deaf on her ears. She only ever wanted one person to find her beautiful.

Rey is now twenty-five; she wants to be rid of the ghost of him desperately and she supposes she should start by not seeing his face behind every camera pointed at her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the update's late, but I've been busy with uni and didn't have that much time to write. This piece is still unbeta-ed , so if anyone would like to lend a hand to help me spot out errors, that would be a great help!
> 
> As always, let me know what you think! We have one chapter left before concluding this story. :)


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